Susan desperately seeks a last-minute gift for her son, Peter, when the gaming computer she ordered goes on backorder.
Susan leaned against the glass display of men’s watches, her fingers thumping a restless rhythm against the counter. The store buzzed irritatingly around her, tinny sounding Christmas carols droning in the background, people shambling up and down the aisles with full baskets, fighting over items they had passed over without a second thought the week before. It was all too much. Her chest constricted. Her vision narrowed. She began gasping on the edge of a panic attack.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered in anguish, voice swallowed by the din. She closed her eyes and counted, forcing herself to take slow breaths in and out, trying to ground herself. After a count of thirty she opened her eyes. She stared at her reflection in the glass. She inspected herself, her tired eyes, mouth a thin, tight line, hair in disarray from running her fingers through it too many times. Desperate. She looked desperate.
Pushing past her feelings, she leaned in, focusing past her reflection at the watches, as if inspecting them more closely would reveal the perfect one. But none of them seemed right. They were all either too large or too small, had too many bells and whistles or were too simple. Nothing fit. Nothing felt right.
She thought of the computer she had ordered for him. A custom gaming PC, something he would use for years while away at college. She had spent the past few months researching, asking friends and coworkers for advice, reading lists of component comparisons that might as well have been written in ancient Greek. She had even paid extra to make sure it would arrive in time for Christmas. And now? Now it was on backorder, delayed until January or February. She clenched her jaw. Her head throbbed and her chest ached.
She groaned as she straightened, wiping the tears from her eyes. This was his last Christmas before he flew the nest in the fall. She had wanted to make it special. Her heart ached at the thought of him going. He was her only child, her everything, her reason to get up in the mornings. She couldn’t imagine life without him. Yet, here she was, unable to find him a gift to make his last Christmas living at home special.
“Ugh, men are the worst to shop for, aren’t they?”
The voice made her jump, startling her out of her thoughts. A woman about her stood age beside her, looking in the watches case, a smirk tugging at her mouth. Susan blinked, but then forced a small laugh. “Tell me about it. My son’s leaving for college next fall, and the gift I bought him is on backorder. I just… I wanted to make this Christmas special.” Her voice cracked at the end, and she looked away, blinking rapidly to clear the tears. One fell anyway, coursing down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away.
The woman's smirk disappeared and her face softened with sympathy. “Oh honey. My daughter just left for school this fall, and let me tell you, it’s not easy.” She placed a comforting hand on Susan’s arm. “But you'll pull through. And some fancy gift won't make this Christmas special. You already gave him the best gift of all. The best gift is yourself. It'll be special because you're together.”
Susan swallowed, trying to clear the tightness in her throat. “Thank you. That actually helps a little."
The woman laughed, her smirk returning. "Good. I'm glad. I was starting to think reading all those Hallmark cards had finally driven me crazy."
Susan returned the smirk. "Well, it did sound a little cheesy, but I didn't want to be rude."
The woman giggled. “Well, I hope it works out for you. It's too bad it's your son. There is one thing that’s always guaranteed to make any man happy.” She leaned in conspiratorially, her eyes twinkling. “You could always wrap yourself up, put a bow on your–”
Susan’s eyes widened, and she burst into unexpected laughter, the kind that came out sharp and sudden, cutting through the store’s noise. “Oh my god! Could you imagine! He'd drop dead on the spot!”
The woman laughed along. “Only from your killer looks. Every son should be so lucky!"
Susan giggled. "I can't believe I am having this conversation with a complete stranger! If only it were that easy!"
"Hey, if it works, it works, right?” the woman said, grinning ear to ear. She patted Susan’s arm one last time before turning to leave, still giggling. “Good luck, hon. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
"Thank you!"
The woman waved in reply as she walked away. Susan gazed after her, still softly giggling to herself. She sighed and brought her mind back on task, running a hand through her hair as she stepped away from the counter. Though the idea lingered in her mind, like a moth fluttering around her head, randomly intruding on her thoughts. It was ridiculous, of course. Absurd. But she found herself repeating the odd conversation as she continued her hunt.
The store was a maze of glittering displays and bustling bodies now, each aisle more crowded than the last. She wandered aimlessly, her mind racing with thoughts of Peter. He was her everything, her heart and soul, the only real man in her life for years, since before he was born really. The thought of him leaving was unbearable. He’s only eighteen, she thought, her stomach twisting, and already flying the nest. She knew this day would come, but she had somehow hoped it would be years later. And now it was less than a year away. She wanted to give him something meaningful, something that would remind him of home, of her, when he was miles away.
But as the hours dragged, on her search proved fruitless. She turned toward the electronics section. Maybe she could find something else, a tablet, a gaming console, anything that might come close to replacing the PC she’d ordered. But as she scanned the shelves, her eyes fell on a row of video game controllers. They looked so small, so insignificant compared to the custom rig she’d planned for him. She picked one up, turning it over in her hands, but it felt hollow, empty. A placeholder. Not a gift. Not something special.
“No,” she muttered, setting it down and moving on.
The clothing section was next. She rifled through racks of hoodies and jeans, searching for something that might fit Peter. His size wasn’t hard to guess, she knew every inch of his frame, but nothing felt right. The colors were too bright, the cuts too trendy. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t her son. She pulled out a dark gray sweater, holding it up against herself, imagining him wearing it. But even that felt wrong. It was just… cloth. Fabric. Not a memory. Not a connection.
“This is hopeless,” she whispered, dropping the sweater back onto the rack.
She moved deeper into the store, the crowds thinning as she entered the book section. She ran her fingers along the shelves, looking for something, anything that might be suitable. A cookbook? No, he didn’t cook. A novel? He barely had time to read for fun anymore. A journal? Maybe. But it felt too impersonal, too generic. She pulled one off the shelf, flipping through it, but decided the gift would be as empty as the pages.
What could she give him that would mean as much to him as the PC would have?
“Nothing,” she answered herself aloud, closing the journal and putting it back.
Eventually she returned to the jewelry counter, her head throbbing with a dull ache, now even more desperate. The watches had been bad enough, but the rings and necklaces felt even more ridiculous. Who gave their son a necklace for Christmas? She put her head down on the glass. Her breath fogged the surface. She closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of the cool glass soothing the pounding in her temples.
“You can do this,” she told herself.
She stood up and stepped away from the counter resolutely and headed for the exit. She needed to clear her head. On her way out she grabbed a candy cane from a Salvation Army volunteer near the door, dropping a few dollar bills into the bin. The ringing bell resonated with her headache. She put the end of the candy cane in her mouth, focusing on the peppermint sensation, running her tongue around and over it to maximize the flavor. The cold air hit her, and she used the sensation to ground herself more. Slowly her heart rate returned to normal, her breathing coming easier.
How could she let this Christmas slip through her fingers? She needed it to be special, for Peter, to give him a last magical Christmas morning at home. How could she make it magical for him?
Back inside, she wandered into the toy section, half-heartedly scanning for something that might appeal to an eighteen-year-old boy. Action figures? Too childish. Nerf guns? Too messy, she had always been finding the bullets all over the house and yard when Peter was younger. Board games? Too, well, boring. She stopped in front of a display of remote-control cars. They reminded her of simpler times, when he was younger, when gifts had been easier. Back then, it had been so much easier to make him smile. He was an adult now, his wants and needs were much more complex. She needed to give him adult gifts, adult experiences.
The thought reminded her of that silly woman by the watches. “Ok, maybe not that adult,” she laughed, though she allowed herself to imagine the shock on his face. She shook her head to dismiss the naughty amusement that bubbled up.
The day wore on, each failed attempt chipping away at her resolve. By midafternoon, she found herself back at the watch counter, staring at the same lifeless displays she’d dismissed hours ago. Her reflection stared back at her, tired and defeated. She looked like someone who’d given up, and maybe she had. Maybe she was just chasing after something that didn’t exist.
The thought returned, unbidden and insistent, like a song stuck on repeat in her mind: Wrap yourself up. Put a bow on yourself. It was ridiculous. Absurd. And yet, the more she replayed it, the more it seemed… possible. It made her pulse quicken, made her cheeks flush. What if she could give him something more than a material object? What if she could give him a memory, something intimate and personal, a final gesture of love before he left? Her breath deepened as the idea caught like a spark in dry tinder, spreading like wildfire through her mind. She tried to push it away, tried to focus on something, anything, else, but she couldn't dislodge it. The image of Peter walking in to see her, offering herself up completely to him, his shock turning into a big, greedy grin played itself over and over in her mind.
“Stop it,” she muttered under her breath, her voice trembling. It was taboo. Wrong, even. “You’re his mother. You can’t-… you shouldn’t-…” But the words felt hollow, powerless against the growing excitement bubbling beneath her skin. The idea was becoming an obsession, filling her with an unbidden, illicit desire.
Ten minutes before closing, she found herself standing in front of a display of bows and wrapping paper, her fingers brushing against the glossy sheets. The store was nearly empty now, the hum of Christmas carols fading into the background as the staff prepared to lock up for the night. She lingered there, her reflection staring back at her from the shiny paper, eyes wide and uncertain. Her heart pounded in her chest as she imagined it: herself, waiting under the tree for him to discover her. The thought sent shivers down her spine, a mix of excitement and fear coursing through her veins.
“Is this really what you want?” she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. “Is this how you want to say goodbye?”
Her mind tumbled with desires and doubts and anticipation. She pictured Peter walking into the living room the next morning, bleary-eyed and half-asleep, only to find her there, waiting for him. His expression would shift from confusion to shock, then to something softer, something warmer. Would he laugh? Would he blush? Would he understand what she was doing, why she was doing it? Or would he be horrified, disgusted even? The uncertainty ate at her, but beneath it all was a thrill, a giddy sort of anticipation that she couldn’t ignore.
It was like some switch in her brain had been flipped. She had never once thought of Peter in a sexual way before, but now, suddenly, it was all she could think about. Had this always been inside of her, just waiting for some stranger to say something that opened some hidden door inside of her? It felt like a beast had been let loose, some animalistic side of herself. And the beast was in heat.
She reached out, her fingers trembling as she felt a roll of red velvet ribbon. The color seemed fitting, festive yet elegant, like something out of a dream. She clutched it to her chest, her breath shallow, as she headed for the checkout line. Her hands shook as she paid, the cashier barely glancing up from their phone. By the time she got back to her car, the idea was cemented in her mind, undeniable and irresistible.
This is crazy, she thought, gripping the steering wheel tightly. You’re his mother. You can’t… you shouldn’t…
And yet, as she drove home, the plan began to take shape. The streets were quiet, the houses glowing softly with holiday lights, their windows casting warm reflections on the snow-dusted sidewalks. She rolled down her window slightly, letting the cold air rush in, hoping it would clear her head. But it didn’t. If anything, the chill only heightened her senses, sharpening her resolve. She glanced at the bag on the passenger seat, the ribbon peeking out like a tease, and her stomach fluttered with a mix of nerves and excitement.
What would Peter think? What would he feel? Would he see this as a gift or a burden? A final act of love, or an awkward mistake? She didn’t know. She wanted to give him something unforgettable, something no store could ever provide. Something that would stay with him long after he left for college, something that would remind him of her, of home.
By the time she pulled into the driveway, her resolve was firm, though her hands still trembled slightly as she turned off the engine. The house was quiet, save for the faint ticking of the clock in the living room. She stood there for a moment, staring at the front door, her heart pounding in her chest. The silence felt heavy, and oppressive, as if the house itself were holding its breath, waiting to see what she would do.
She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped inside. The hallway was dark, the only light coming from the soft glow of the tree in the living room. She set the bag down on the counter, her fingers brushing against the ribbon again, and closed her eyes. The image of Peter finding her under the tree flashed through her mind once more, vivid and impossible to shake.
“You’re sure about this?” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. “You’re really going to do this?”
There was no answer, only the sound of her own breathing, steady and determined. Hungry. She opened her eyes, picked up the bag, and walked toward the upstairs to hide it in her room, her heart pounding with anticipation.
She changed out of her tired old mom clothes and instead chose a low-cut silk blouse and push-up bra and a small black skirt that only went to just above the knee and had a slit up the side. She wore no panties.
This was it. This was her gift to him, her final act of love before he flew the nest. And as much as she doubted herself, as much as she questioned whether this was right or wrong, there was no turning back now.
Susan returned to the kitchen, her heart still racing. She busied herself with preparing a Christmas Eve dinner, her hands moving deftly as she chopped vegetables and stirred sauces. The air filled with the rich aromas of roast beef, garlic mashed potatoes, and fresh-baked bread. She set the table with care, placing candles in the center and dimming the lights to create a cozy, intimate atmosphere.
“Peter! Dinner’s ready!” she called up the stairs, her voice warm but tinged with nervous energy.
Moments later, Peter appeared at the bottom of the staircase, his hair slightly disheveled from where he’d been leaning against the headboard of his bed, headphones on, immersed in an online game with his friends. He took one look at the dinner spread and whistled softly.
“Wow, Mom, this looks amazing,” he said, pulling out his chair. His eyes sparkled with genuine surprise and appreciation.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” she replied, smiling softly as she took her seat across from him. Her heart fluttered as she watched him settle in, every detail of his appearance imprinting itself on her mind, his strong jawline, the curve of his lips, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. They ate quietly at first, the soft crackle of the fireplace and the gentle flicker of candlelight filling the space between them. Susan couldn’t help but glance at him often, her mind drifting to the following morning. What would he think when he found her under the tree? Would he see it as a gift or something else entirely?
She reached for her wine glass, her fingers brushing the stem as she leaned forward just enough to let the neckline of her blouse dip invitingly. Peter’s gaze flickered down for a moment before he quickly looked away, his cheeks flushing faintly. Susan pretended not to notice, though a small thrill shot through her. She cleared her throat and asked, “So, how’s school going? Any new friends? Crushes?”
Peter chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, actually… There's this girl in my math class. I think she might like me too.” His voice was light, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his tone.
Susan’s chest tightened with a mix of pride and something sharper, more complicated. “That’s wonderful, honey. I’m sure you’ll have to tell me all about her soon.” She forced herself to smile, to sound genuinely interested, even as her stomach churned with jealousy.
After dinner, she stood to clear the dishes, her movements deliberate. As she bent over to pick up a plate, she made sure her skirt rode up just enough to flash a glimpse of thigh. When she straightened, she caught Peter glancing at her legs before he quickly busied himself with carrying his plate to the sink. Susan bit her lip, suppressing a smile.
“Oh!” she exclaimed suddenly, setting the plates down in the sink. “I think we need a new sponge. This one’s seen better days.” Without waiting for a response, she dropped to her hands and knees and crawled under the sink to retrieve a fresh one. The cool air brushed against her bare slit as her skirt hiked up, and she paused for a moment, letting the sensation linger. She glanced back toward Peter, who was staring openly now, his face flushed and his jeans noticeably tighter.
“Found it,” she said casually, standing up and smoothing her skirt. She turned to face him, her expression innocent, but her pulse quickened as she saw the unmistakable bulge in his pants.
Peter stammered, “Uh, yeah, good. Good. Sponge.”
Susan suppressed a laugh, her cheeks burning. “Thanks for helping, sweetheart.”
When they were done, she turned to him with a hopeful smile. “Want to watch a movie with me? It is Christmas Eve, after all.”
He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Sure, why not?” His gaze flickered down and lingered on her cleavage for just a second too long, and Susan felt a shiver run down her spine.
They settled onto the couch, the TV casting a soft glow over the room. At first, they sat a comfortable distance apart, but as the movie played, Susan found herself leaning closer, her shoulder brushing against his, head resting against his. The warmth of his body sent electric tingles through her skin, and she fought the urge to press herself against him completely. Her fingers traced absentminded patterns on his chest, her thoughts spiraling into forbidden territory. She imagined what it would feel like to be wrapped in his arms, to feel his lips on hers.
As the movie progressed, Susan shifted slightly, adjusting her position to get more comfortable. In doing so, she casually unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, revealing just enough of her lace bra to catch Peter’s eye. She didn't look at him, but she could feel his eyes as they looked down her shirt. The bulge in his pants grew more noticeable, making her giddy with desire.
When the second movie started, she adjusted herself to lay her head on his lap, directly on his bulge, making sure to let her skirt ride up a little more as she shifted and that he could still see down her shirt. He tried to shift himself to hide his erection, but she could still feel it throbbing under her cheek.
She began idly stroking his thigh, at times her fingers brushing the bulbous head of his penis under her nose. The fabric of his jeans was rough against her fingertips, sending jolts of pleasure through her entire body. She could feel his arousal beneath her cheek throb with every 'accidental' caress of the tip of his cock. But she said nothing, letting the tension simmer between them, savoring every moment of contact.
She reached up, her fingers grazing his wrist. “Peter,” she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Can you… hold me?”
He hesitated for a moment, then nodded, his hand wrapping around her shoulder. But instead of stopping there, Susan said, "Just a little tighter?" guiding his palm to the side of her breast, her breath hitching as his fingers brushed against her nipple through the lace of her bra. She closed her eyes, savoring the sensation, her heart pounding in her chest.
Peter’s grip tightened involuntarily, his breath catching as he realized where his hand was. Susan opened her eyes and glanced up at him, her expression innocent but her lips curved into a sly smile. “Comfortable?” she asked, her voice soft and teasing.
He nodded quickly, his face flushed, but his eyes were locked on hers, filled with a mix of confusion and desire. Susan let out a soft chuckle, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his thigh. “Good,” she murmured, closing her eyes again and letting herself sink into the warmth of his touch.
As the movie continued, Susan occasionally shifted, her movements deliberate and calculated. Each time, she made sure to give Peter a glimpse of her exposed skin, her lace-covered breasts, or the curve of her thigh as her skirt rode up. Each time, she caught him glancing, his eyes darting away quickly, his hands fidgeting nervously. And each time, she felt a surge of excitement, her body responding to his unease, his growing arousal.
When the movies finally ended, she sat up slowly, her heart pounding. Every inch of her skin was alive with sensation, her nipples hardening beneath her thin shirt, her breath coming short and shallow. She glanced at Peter, who was sitting stiffly, his hands clenched into fists, his face a mask of conflicted emotions.
“Go to bed, sweetheart,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. “We have a big, exciting day tomorrow.”
Peter hesitated, his eyes darkening with something unreadable. “Okay, Mom. Good night.” He leaned down, kissing her forehead gently, and Susan closed her eyes, letting the warmth of his lips linger on her skin. As he passed her, he couldn’t help but glance back, his eyes lingering on her for just a moment too long. Susan met his gaze, her lips curving into a knowing smile, and watched as he practically ran up the stairs, his arousal obvious even through his jeans.
As he walked away, each step echoing in the quiet house, she wondered if he could hear her heartbeat, if he could sense the weight of desire that hung heavy in the air between them.
Susan stayed behind, her thoughts swirling as she prepared for what awaited them in the morning. Once she was sure he was asleep, she brought out all his smaller gifts from the storage room, mostly clothes. She filled his stocking, mostly deodorant, cologne and aftershave, but a few gift cards as well. And candy, of course.
She leaned back against the couch, her fingers tracing the edge of her unbuttoned blouse, and closed her eyes. Tomorrow, she thought, her heart racing with anticipation. Tomorrow, she will give him the perfect gift.
She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, before heading upstairs to bed, her heart fluttering. It wasn't too late to back out. She could still give him an IOU and explain about the computer being on backorder. He would be disappointed but would understand.
But no, the switch had been flipped, the door had been opened, and her inner beast had been set free. There was no going back now.
She slept fitfully, giddy with excitement, body aching with unrestrained desire.
Hours later, as the sun peaked above the horizon and the light streamed through the large window, she stood in the center of the living room, her heart thundering in her chest. The tree sparkled with lights and ornaments, its branches cradling the gifts underneath it. She wore only the ribbons she’d bought, the velvety fabric draped across her body in a way that was both modest and daring. A large bow was perched awkwardly on her head, its ends dangling down her back.
She looked ridiculous, she knew. And yet, there was something thrilling about it, something electric that buzzed beneath her skin. She waited, her breath shallow, her body tense with doubt and anticipation in equal measure.
And then she heard it, the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Her son was awake.
Her stomach clenched, and nausea took her. It was too late to back out now.
He walked into the living room, his eyes widening as he took in the scene before him. For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze sweeping over her body, drinking in every detail. The soft glow of the Christmas tree lights danced across her skin, highlighting the delicate curves of her body draped in ribbons. His breath hitched as his eyes lingered on the large bow perched awkwardly on her head, its ends dangling down her back like a playful tease.
“What… what is this?” he finally asked, his voice low and raspy, thick with disbelief.
She swallowed hard, her throat dry, the words barely escaping her lips. “It’s… it’s for you,” she whispered, her voice trembling but steady. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”
Peter’s eyes widened further, his breath catching in his throat as he took a step closer. His hands trembled at his sides, and for a moment, he just stared, as if unable to comprehend what was happening. His gaze flicked between her face and the ribbons draped across her body, his confusion mingling with something darker, something she couldn’t quite name.
“Mom… what are you doing?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his voice cracking slightly. His eyes were wide, his pupils dilated as if he were trying to process the impossible.
Susan’s heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it. She forced herself to meet his gaze, her cheeks burning but her resolve unwavering. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her nipples hardening beneath the thin fabric of the ribbons. “I wanted this Christmas to be special,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “Our last one before you go to college. I wanted to show you how much you mean to me, how much I love you.”
Peter blinked, his expression shifting from shock to disbelief. “This… this can’t be real,” he muttered, shaking his head, his voice tinged with desperation. “I must be dreaming. I’ve been dreaming of you like this for years.”
Her chest tightened at his words, a mix of pride and guilt twisting inside her. A shiver ran down her spine, not from fear, but from the raw, undeniable desire coursing through her veins. “It’s real, sweetheart,” she assured him, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her. “And I’m here for you. All you have to do is unwrap your present.”
He hesitated, his hands still trembling as he reached out slowly, his fingers brushing against the velvet ribbon tied around her chest. Susan bit her lip, her breath hitching as he began to untie it, his movements clumsy with nervousness. The bow fell away, revealing the words “PROPERTY OF PETER” written in bold, red marker across her breasts. The ink felt cool against her heated skin, the letters stark and commanding.
Peter’s eyes widened again, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he stared at the words. “Mom… what…?” His voice was barely audible, his mind struggling to catch up with the reality unfolding before him.
“Just keep going,” she urged, her voice soft but firm, her tone inviting yet commanding. “You know what to do.”
With shaky hands, Peter reached for the bow around her waist, his fingers fumbling slightly as he untied it. The ribbon fell away, revealing the words “FREE USE” written above her neatly trimmed pubes in bold, red marker. Susan closed her eyes briefly, a wave of heat washing over her as she felt the cool air brush against her skin. The sensation sent a jolt of arousal through her, her body responding instinctively to his proximity, to his touch.
Peter’s breathing grew heavier, his arousal evident as he looked at her. For a moment, he didn’t move, as if unsure of what to do next. But then, slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against her bare breast, sending shivers up her spine. The touch was tentative, almost reverent, and it made her pulse quicken even more.
Susan’s heart raced as she waited, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. This was it. This was their moment. And no matter what happened next, she knew she would never forget it. More importantly, he would never forget it. Her body ached with anticipation, her skin hypersensitive to every movement, every breath. She could feel the heat radiating off Peter’s body, the tension in the air between them palpable.
“Peter,” she murmured, her voice soft and inviting, her eyes locking onto his. “Do you like your gift?”
He nodded quickly, his throat dry, his voice barely a whisper. “Yes… yes, Mom. It’s… perfect.”
A small smile played on her lips, her confidence growing with each passing second. “Then take it,” she said, her voice low and sultry. “Take what’s yours.”
His hands trembled as he reached for her again, his fingers tracing the curve of her breast, the firmness of her nipple. Each touch sent sparks through her, her body responding eagerly to his exploration. She leaned into his touch, her breath catching as his hand cupped her breast, the sensitive skin of her nipple pressing against his palm.
“Mom…” he whispered, his voice breaking as he looked into her eyes, his own filled with a mixture of awe and desire.
“Shh,” she said, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over his bottom lip. “Don’t think. Just feel.”
He nodded, his eyes closing as he leaned into her touch, his body relaxing slightly. Susan’s heart swelled with affection, her desire for him overwhelming any lingering doubts. She wanted this, needed this, to be their final Christmas memory together before he left for college.
With a deep breath, Peter leaned forward, his lips brushing against hers in a gentle kiss. Susan gasped softly, her body reacting instantly, her arms wrapping around his neck as she pulled him closer. The kiss deepened, his tongue seeking entrance, and she opened for him, her mouth moving sensuously against his.
As their tongues met, Susan felt a surge of heat rush through her, her body melting into his. She could feel his hardness pressing against her thigh, and she shifted slightly, her hips grinding against him in silent invitation. Peter groaned into her mouth, his hands sliding down to cup her ass, pulling her tighter against him.
“Peter…” she whispered against his lips, her voice breathless, her body trembling with need. “Please… make me yours.”
He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire, his breathing ragged. “Are you sure, Mom?” he asked, his voice hoarse, his hands gripping her tightly.
“Yes,” she replied without hesitation, her voice firm, her eyes locking onto his. “I’m sure.”
With that, Peter lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the couch. He laid her down gently, his eyes never leaving hers. She reached out and yanked his pajama pants down. He kicked out of them as he positioned himself between her legs.
"Mom, I've never-"
"Shh. I know sweetie. It's ok. Mommy will help you." Susan spread her thighs wider, her hands reaching up to guide him to her.
As Peter positioned himself between her legs, Susan’s breath hitched. Her heart pounded in her chest, a frantic rhythm that matched the urgency building within her. She reached for him, her fingers trembling as she guided his length to her entrance. The head of his cock pressed against her slick folds, and she gasped, her body instinctively arching up to meet him.
“Peter…” she whispered, her voice soft but urgent, laced with both fear and desire. “Just… just take me. Please.”
He hesitated for a moment, his eyes locking onto hers, searching for something, reassurance, permission, she wasn’t sure. But then, with a shaky breath, he pushed forward. The sensation was electric, her nerves sparking as he breached her, filling her completely. She cried out softly, a sound that was half-pleasure, half-shock, as her body adjusted to his size.
“Oh God…” she moaned, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly. Her back arched, her hips lifting to meet his thrusts, urging him deeper. “You feel so good, sweetheart… so good inside me.”
Peter groaned, his forehead resting against hers as he began to move, slowly at first, each thrust deliberate and careful. His hands slid under her, cupping her ass and pulling her closer, their bodies fitting together perfectly. Susan’s legs wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his lower back as she urged him on.
“Faster,” she gasped, her voice breaking with need. “Please, Peter… faster. I need you… harder.”
Her words seemed to snap something in him. He obeyed, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, each one driving her closer to the edge. Susan clung to him, her nails digging into his back, leaving faint marks in his skin. The sensation was overwhelming, her body trembling with pleasure, her breaths coming in short, desperate gasps.
“Yes, like that… oh God, yes,” she moaned loudly, her voice rising in pitch as the pressure built inside her. Her nipples were hard, brushing against the thin fabric of the ribbons still draped across her chest, sending sparks of pleasure through her. She could feel the heat pooling low in her belly, the tension coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust.
“Peter… I’m close,” she yelled, her voice trembling, her body tightening around him. Her inner muscles clenched, drawing him deeper, milking him for every ounce of pleasure. “Don’t stop… don’t you dare stop.”
He groaned, his pace increasing even more, his hips slamming into hers with bruising force. Susan cried out, her voice echoing through the room as her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave. Her body convulsed, her walls clenching around him as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. She clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders, her body shuddering with aftershocks.
Peter followed soon after, his release hitting him hard as he buried himself deep inside her. He collapsed onto her, his weight pressing her into the couch, his breath hot against her neck. For a moment, they lay there, tangled together, their hearts pounding in unison.
“Mom…” he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with emotion. “That… that was…”
“Perfect,” she finished for him, her voice soft but firm. She tilted her head, kissing his temple gently. “It was perfect, sweetheart. Just like you.”
He nodded, his breathing gradually slowing as he relaxed against her. Susan ran her fingers through his hair, her thoughts swirling with a mix of emotions. Pride, love, desire, they all mingled together, creating a potent cocktail that left her feeling both exhilarated and vulnerable.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” she whispered, her voice soft, her lips brushing against his temple.
Peter lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers, his expression tender. “Merry Christmas, Mom,” he replied, his voice filled with love and gratitude.
For a long moment, they lay there, their bodies tangled together, their hearts pounding in unison. Susan stroked his hair, her fingers tracing the curve of his ear, her thoughts swirling with emotion. This was their moment, their secret gift to each other. As the sun rose higher outside, casting golden light through the window, Susan knew that this was the perfect gift, the one she had been searching for all along.